


lattes and espionage

by shenylle



Category: GreedFall (Video Game)
Genre: Dirty Talk, M/M, Siora aids and abets, coffee shop AU, light kink and D/s overtones, minor feelz, more flirting than coffee drinking and spying tbh, secret agent AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-28 18:17:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21141089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shenylle/pseuds/shenylle
Summary: The Target: Legate of the Merchant Congregation, a notorious group of insider traders. The Location: A Starbucks knock off named Serenity in the heart of the city.  The Complication: A tall barista with yellow eyes, face tattoos, and a foreign name. [COMPLETE]





	1. one - temptation

lattes and espionage

_chapter one - temptation_

The tall barista with yellow eyes is working again today. Kurt hates those mornings; he always fumbles his order, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of the other man frothing up some foam or other ridiculous shit for the person ahead of him in line. It’s distracting and embarrassing – both the drink combinations he is forced to witness and the heat that tickles at his cheeks.

Today, when the barista hands him the to-go cup, he curls his lips into a smirk and says, “Why even bother coming in if you’re just going to order your coffee black?”

Kurt tries not to blush, dropping his eyes to finally get a good look at the name tag on the man’s ugly green apron. _Vasco – is that a first name?_ Kurt absentmindedly grabs for the cup and replies, “For the company,” glancing around the coffee shop interior.

“Is that so?” Vasco says, raising an eyebrow. His forehead wrinkles into lines etched with tattoo ink. Doesn’t make him very employable, but Kurt finds himself staring regardless.

The social interaction has just about reached its limit; anything more is just obvious. Kurt tips his cup in a goodbye salute. “It’s Kurt with a ‘K’,” he corrects, nodding at the misspelling printed underneath the lid, and turns away.

The target isn’t here today, so there is no sense lingering.

///

Kurt passes the street preacher on his way back into the coffee shop. The man is much older, greying and wrinkled in the face, but still strong of stature and on a downhill slide from handsome. The man tries to pass him a pamphlet as he enters, but Kurt waves him off and pushes inside.

The door swings open, bold green capital letters reading _SERENITY_ at eye level. For an independent shop, its mimicry of better-known chains has Kurt feeling déjà vu each time he returns. He takes a customary glance around the interior. Siora is already in place at a table in the corner, Macbook open and herbal tea in hand, large rimmed glasses framing her petite face. Kurt’s eyes skim past her, but there is no sign of De Sardet.

It’s early morning yet and Vasco stands alone at the cash register. He smiles, seeing Kurt approach, and turns to the coffee pot to his right. After pouring the cup full, he slides it across the counter. “Your usual, Soldier,” he says with a smile.

Kurt freezes, shoulders immediately going tense. “What makes you say that?” he asks, barely holding back from snapping.

A look of uncertainty passes over Vasco’s eyes. “Just a sixth sense. Had my heart broken by too many military men,” he adds with a shrug, “so it’s like a warning.”

“Oh,” replies Kurt stiffly. His mind races through years of training, but there was never any manual for flirting with a tattooed barista while waiting for your target to come in sight.

Vasco flinches a bit, but the smile stays on his face, though maybe it’s a little uneasy now. “Hope I didn’t cross a line.” He points to the coffee and says, “On the house.”

“Thanks,” Kurt says, picking it up. He stands awkwardly for another moment. No De Sardet and he’s made an ass of himself. _Great start._

“See you tomorrow, I hope.” Vasco starts to turn away to the machines behind the counter, preparing God knows what. “If I haven’t scared you into converting to a Starbucks customer, that is.”

“Yeah, tomorrow then,” Kurt mutters, turning on his heel and hurrying away.

Out of the street, the preacher ignores Kurt this time, instead looking down the sidewalk into the flow of passersby. Kurt follows his gaze and, in the midst of the crowd, spots a tall, thin man with fine golden hair strutting towards them. The preacher gathers his handouts and redoubles his attempts to engage those headed their way.

Kurt lingers, pulling out his phone under the pretext of checking his messages. He snaps a picture of Constantin, highlights Siora’s name on his contact list, and writes, _comin ur way_. The message sends off into the ether, but is followed seconds later by three flashing dots and then:

_Be nicer to the barista, Kurt._

///

“Have you been to the _Sea Horse_?” Vasco asks the next day, handing Kurt his steadfast black coffee, this time with his name spelled properly.

Kurt has done his local research; he knows it’s the name of a popular gay bar a few blocks away. “No,” he says a little abruptly. _Be nicer_, Siora’s words ring in his ears – or rather, flash before his eyes. Kurt clears his throat. “Why do you ask?”

Vasco shrugs, not too deterred by Kurt’s response. “Thought I’d ask if you wanted to check it out some time. With me,” he adds.

“Thought you said you had sworn off military men,” Kurt goads, unable to supress a slight smile.

Vasco’s grin widens, his yellow eyes glittering somewhat wickedly. “Said I’d had my heart broken; didn’t say I’d given up,” he clarifies.

Kurt pauses, throwing a customary glance over his shoulder to inspect the current patrons. No De Sardet. No Constantin. Siora hadn’t had much to report on their activities yesterday, despite the fact that they had spent nearly two hours at the café. “Ask me again tomorrow,” says Kurt, then walks away.

///

Finally, finally, there is some progress on the operation, as Kurt enters the coffee shop to find De Sardet and Constantin seated together in a booth near the door. There are papers between them and they pass notes back and forth as they chat, heads bowed towards one another.

Kurt swallows hard. He is slower to approach the cash register. “What can I get you?” says the fresh-faced college girl behind the counter. _No Vasco, then,_ he thinks. _Perhaps that’s for the best._

He takes his coffee, and a biscuit this time to explain the loitering, and finds a table in view of the target. He immediately pulls out his phone and shoots a text to Siora, alerting her of their presence. He munches on the biscuit and tries to eavesdrop, but their voices remained hushed.

His phone flashes brightly and he checks for messages, sure that Siora is confirming that she is en route, but there’s only a text from a number without a contact name, saying, _Was that your voice I heard in my café?_

_Who this?_ Kurt texts back, one hand occupied with his pastry.

_Your friend with the cute pixie cut gave me your number,_ the reply comes without answering the question. _I’m on my break; meet me out back._

Kurt narrows his eyes at the screen, brow furrowed. _Dammit Siora._ Laughter draws his attention away from his phone and he looks up, remembering De Sardet and Constantin’s presence. He frowns. _Cant sry,_ he replies.

_Sorry, didn’t mean to overstep. I won’t bother you again._ The returning message comes quickly.

Kurt swears softly under his breath. _No busy,_ he starts to type, but Constantin stands up at that moment, giving De Sardet a hug and saying his goodbyes. “Fuck,” he mutters, dropping the phone into his pocket. He gives the other man a short head start, then follows a few moments later, angry at himself for leaving a mess of crumbs behind on the table.

Constantin travels down a couple blocks, towards the apartment the Coin Guard have already staked out, so there is nothing surprising there. A minute into the walk, a constable canvassing pedestrians stops Constantin to chat. She is shorter, with her dark hair pinned up and her brown freckled face serious. She shows him a picture; he shakes his head and walks away.

The constable climbs back into her squad car, but stops to scrawl some notes in her seat. Kurt decides against drawing any attention and veers down the adjoining side street, losing view of his target.

///

The half-finished message glares at him like an insult when he returns to his apartment that evening and retrieves his cell phone from his pocket. Kurt sighs and erases the draft, setting the phone down on his counter.

He retrieves a beer from his fridge and plops down on the couch, not bothering to switch on any lights inside, allowing him to peer out into the cityscape unbothered. He picks up the television remote, holds it outstretched for a minute, then drops it back onto the cushions. With a sigh and a large swig of beer, he stands up and walks back over to the counter.

He picks up the phone and opens the short conversation from earlier today. _Sry,_ he starts to type, then erases it, then types it again. _Sorry, had places to be maybe next time._ He hits send, then instantly regrets it.

The message screen stares back at him blankly. He waits for a minute – maybe two or three, but who’s counting? – then locks the screen and carries the phone back over to the couch.

He sits in the darkness and keeps drinking his beer, debating whether to turn on the news or hop in the shower.

After eight minutes – _but who’s counting?_ – the screen flashes and Kurt nearly spills his beer in his rush to pick up the phone. _You keep saying that,_ says the text.

_Touché,_ Kurt wants to write, but he doesn’t know how to make that accent thing with his keyboard. He glares at the phone for a moment, then, silently cursing at himself, hits the dial button.

Vasco picks up almost immediately. “Kurt?” His voice is quieter than Kurt expects, subdued and almost a whisper.

_Shit._ He had not thought this through. _What do I say? Start with ‘Hello’, you idiot._ “Hello,” _you idiot,_ Kurt thinks.

“I’m surprised you called,” Vasco says, voice still soft.

“Yeah. Is this a bad time?” asks Kurt.

He hears a sigh through the phone. “Kind of,” Vasco replies. “But I’m glad you called. I . . . Can we try again tomorrow night instead?”

“Now who’s putting off who?” Kurt teases, rubbing a hand absentmindedly on his thigh.

“Yeah, uh, believe me, I wish I wasn’t,” Vasco says. There is a muffled noise and Kurt can hear some indistinct voices through the speaker, but can’t make out any words. “Sorry. See you tomorrow at the shop?”

“Yeah, yeah sure.”

“Okay, good. Good night, Kurt.”

Kurt closes his eyes and leans back into the cushions of the sofa. “Night, Vasco,” he answers.

There is a pause. Neither hang up. After a second, Vasco says, still quiet, “Hey Kurt? Send some nudes.” Kurt swears he can hear the smirk in the other’s voice.

“Fuck off,” Kurt says with a laugh, hanging up the phone.

///

“No break today?” Kurt asks, lifting the coffee cup from Vasco’s hand.

He is pleased to be rewarded with a surprised smile spreading across Vasco’s face. “You have bad timing, Kurt,” he teases.

“That’s true,” Kurt admits with a shrug.

Siora is perched on a stool by the window, having added a reusable mug to her undercover ensemble, painted with stylized cartoon corgis. She is even wearing Uggs. This may be the coziest he’s ever seen her and he wonders if she’s getting too comfortable in the role. Kurt would second guess her wardrobe choices, but she’s taken him to the floor while in stilettos and a mini skirt before, so he minds his own business now.

As he exits, he has the perfect luck to cross the threshold at the same time as De Sardet, who ducks to their left as he ducks to his right, and they both by all fortune’s favoured crash into one another in a not-at-all orchestrated happenstance. De Sardet looks flustered and apologetic and, in the confused apologies that follow, Kurt blindly darts his hand into De Sardet’s satchel, fingers closing around a small notepad near the bottom. He palms it and pulls back, slapping De Sardet affably on the shoulder with the other hand and heading outside.

The street preacher is staring at him as he exits. “He is always watching, son,” he says, before turning away.

///

_I have a break tomorrow at 3,_ reads the text from Vasco late that evening, just after Kurt has fallen into his bed. The second text reads, _Until then . . ._

A moment later a picture appears, showing slender hips carved with dark tattooed lines and a shallow stomach with a navel piercing. A slim, lengthy cock rises from light-colored pubic hair at the groin and a slender hand cups it, holding it upright for the picture.

The phone drops from Kurt’s hands. _Holy fuck,_ he thinks to himself.

_Holy fffuck,_ he texts back, breath caught in his throat.

He drops onto his back as he waits for the reply. There is nothing for a long moment and Kurt’s hand starts to wander, tracing lightly down his t-shirt covered chest, milling about on his belly, then hiking up the hem. He starts to slide down the waistband of his boxers when a new message pops up.

_Knew you’d like that. See you tomorrow, Soldier. I’m sure you’ll have a good night._

Kurt slides the screen up and brings the picture back into view, biting his lip. His hand wraps around his cock, half at attention, and he bucks his hips a little to give him better access. The touch is underwhelming, but the more he focuses in on the picture, the more he sinks into the excitement and the better it begins to feel.

He sinks back into the mattress after he finishes, a little soiled and a lot more relaxed. He wipes his hand half-heartedly on his pant leg and closes his eyes, drifting off to sleep more quickly than he has in weeks.

///

He checks in on the coffee shop before noon, but no De Sardet and no Constantin. No Vasco, either.

He makes a passable report to the field office, which the Commander allows to slide in light of the notebook Kurt had brought to them the day before, and argues that he is better used returning to the café than hanging about lifting weights with trainees for an afternoon. Sieglinde nods and dismisses him.

_Thought you were at HQ this afternoon?_ Siora texts, casting a sideways glance across the shop interior as Kurt reads the message.

_Doin anothe rround,_ Kurt replies, fingers tripping as he watches Vasco exit through the rear employee door behind the counter out of the corner of his eye. He nods at her, just slightly, as he stands and leaves through the front door, bell dinging as it closes behind him.

That constable is back canvassing today, milling up and down the street outside _Serenity_, watching folks pass by. _Shit_, Kurt thinks, thankful he had scoped the ins and outs of the café building both before beginning the operation and again this morning while still debating whether or not to join Vasco out back.

He turns into the narrow alleyway adjacent to the coffee shop. For a minute, he almost doubts himself. An entanglement isn’t a wise choice and this level of attachment this quickly should be a warning sign even if he didn’t need to ship out immediately after the operation wrapped. Then there were the unanswered questions about why Vasco would even be interested in him, would even have noticed the quiet stranger standing in the café line.

For the split second before he rounds the next corner, he has convinced himself that it is just a joke, a ruse, to lure Kurt out back and make a fool of him, but then there’s Vasco, empty-handed and stripped of his green apron, whose face cracks into a wide smile before quickly, consciously, tempering it down some as Kurt approaches.

“Oh, thank God,” Vasco laughs as Kurt draws near, “I was beginning to think this was never going to happen.”

“Shut up. Kiss me,” Kurt huffs, pinning Vasco back against the concrete wall between the fire exit and the half-filled dumpster. He traps a leg between his own thighs and pushes, chest to chest, until there is no empty space left between the two of them, his hands sliding around Vasco’s waist and hips, while Vasco’s wrap frantically around his upper back.

They clash together without pausing for skill, lips and teeth rough and probing. Vasco’s moaning, maybe almost whispering something against his mouth, but Kurt can’t hear it over the groan rumbling through his own throat and the heartbeat pumping in his ears. Kurt kisses him deeply, losing all sense of self, overcome with the need to pour his own desire into the other’s body. He slowly grows aware that he is rutting, shamelessly, into the curve of Vasco’s hip, and Vasco’s very present, very stiff dick is pressed into the muscle of Kurt’s thigh. He groans again, letting one hand slip down lower and cup the curvature of Vasco’s ass, pulling him impossibly closer.

Vasco chuckles, breath hot into Kurt’s mouth and throat, and leans slightly away from the kiss with a regretful whimper. “Woah, easy Soldier,” he teases. “I’ve only got fifteen minutes, but let’s not rush.”

“Call me Kurt, please,” Kurt mumbles into the side of Vasco’s neck as he continues undeterred downwards, dropping licks and nibbles along lines that seem to mimic the veins in the throat.

“Kurt, yeah,” Vasco says quickly, hoarse and winded. Kurt wonders vaguely if Vasco would be fired if he sucked a deep bruise onto his neck this very second. Instead, he slides a hand around to Vasco’s front, pressing on the cock trapped behind the tight-fitting blue jeans he finds there.

“Mmm,” Vasco pants. “You know – ah – ah, I was wondering how you know Siora. _God._ You never seem to talk to one another in the store – _oh_.”

“She’s a friend from school,” Kurt replies absently, having worked his way to Vasco’s sharp collarbone, poking beautifully out from underneath his low-plunging V-neck. His fingers rub at what he guesses to be the base of Vasco’s prick.

“College? She doesn’t seem like a military brat to me,” Vasco asks in between shuddering gasps of air.

“Uh,” and for a moment the questioning cuts through the fog of heat and yearning raging inside of Kurt. _Pay attention. Don’t slip up._ “No, high school. We haven’t exactly stayed close. Didn’t stop her from meddling, though,” he adds with a shrug, finally pulling back enough to look Vasco in the eye, trying to keep his tone conversational.

Vasco smiles a little as he returns Kurt’s stare, then whines softly as he bucks his hips back into Kurt’s hand for some more attention. “Don’t stop.”

Kurt waits, leer growing on his lips. “Say please.”

“Please know how lucky you are that I’m giving you my only break,” Vasco snaps back without any malice, eyes dancing. “Please make it worth my while.” He bucks his hips again; Kurt can feel the burning against his palm, even through the jeans.

“I should leave you like this,” Kurt says fondly, moving his head in for another long kiss. Vasco pulls him closer, desperately, forcing Kurt’s hand away from his front in doing so. It settles back on the jut of Vasco’s waist, thumb dipping below the waistband to caress the smooth skin over the hipbone. There’s a madness to the way Vasco kisses, unpredictable and frenzied, with just enough skill underneath to let Kurt know that if they had more time, Vasco could draw him apart. Kurt’s brain is so clouded by thoughts of what they could do with more time that he doesn’t notice the buzzing at first.

A second rough vibration finally cuts through the moment. Both men pull back abruptly from one another, hurriedly searching for their phones. Kurt pulls his out, but it’s blank. Vasco’s face creases as he reads something on his own.

“Break over?” Kurt asks, hoping his breathing is not too ragged.

“Something like that,” Vasco says apologetically. “I hate to the cut this short.”

Kurt swallows down the mounting lust and tries to appear nonchalant. “It’s not like we were going to get very far beside the dumpsters,” he says.

“Don’t like it dirty?” Vasco teases.

Kurt coughs. “Well,” he gives as a non-answer, “maybe not that dirty.”

“I have to go,” Vasco says again, pressing a quick kiss to Kurt’s lips. “Call me tonight.”

“That sounds like an order,” Kurt points out with a grin.

“It is. Make sure you’re alone.” Vasco’s eyes are practically glowing. Kurt’s breath catches in his throat. Then, too soon, Vasco disappears back into the café.

Kurt knows better than to go back in the front for a coffee. One look at Siora and she will definitely know exactly what he’s been up to. One look at Vasco and he might just leap the counter between them.


	2. two - secrets

_chapter two - secrets_

Around suppertime, he gets a message from Sieglinde to report to HQ posthaste. He sets the fish and chips take out he had just picked up in the fridge with regret then reports to the Coin Guard as quick as he can.

Sieglinde has called their small team into a conference room. Siora nods at Kurt when he comes in, casting a quick glance his way, then doubling back after a moment with a longer appraisal. Sieglinde clears her throat, though, and everyone snaps to attention. “Go ahead, Siora,” she instructs.

Siora slides a picture of the female constable across the boardroom table; Kurt immediately feels his stomach drop through the floor. “We’ve got company,” she says. “I know her from my independent days; she’s Bridge Alliance.”

“Dammit, I thought we had this under wraps,” Sieglinde curses, nearly throwing a doubtful eye on Siora, but catching herself at the last minute. Kurt feels a surge of protectiveness well within him; Siora was his recruit and to have Sieglinde contemplating for even a second that she would turn traitor makes his skin crawl.

Kurt raises his voice to draw the attention his way. “I saw her a few days ago, canvassing the street. She stopped Constantin. I should have recognized her.”

“You couldn’t have known her,” Siora rationalizes. “She’s been AWOL for almost two years now. Everyone thought she’d gone missing during a research assignment in Belize.”

Sieglinde clears her throat, drawing everyone’s focus back to her. “Well, she’s here now, and that means the Bridge Alliance has an interest in the Merchant Congregation, too. No one gets De Sardet but us, do you understand? I don’t care who you know, what faction they are from – all of you here are Coin Guard. No distractions this late in the game. Dismissed.”

Kurt ducks his head away from Siora’s curious gaze. “Kurt, wait,” he hears her call, but he has already pushed his way out of the room.

///

Kurt is barely out of the building by the time he’s dialing Vasco’s number and raising the speaker to his ear.

Vasco picks up on the first ring. “Hey, Kurt,” his voice immediately low and playful.

“Where are you?” Kurt winces at the edge in his words.

“I thought I told you to call me when you were alone,” Vasco teases, ignoring the question. “I can hear the background noise. You really want me to talk you into a stiffy out in public?”

“Where are you?” Kurt repeats again. “I’ll come to you.”

There is a long pause. “Kurt,” Vasco says with a sigh. He pauses a second time. “How about I come to you?”

Kurt hesitates too, furious with himself. “I . . . You can’t,” he says at last.

“Keeping secrets from me?” Vasco asks, but the lightness in his voice is fading.

“Well, what about you?” Kurt replies, trying to stay soft. “You have roommates?”

“You have a wife?” Vasco asks just as quickly.

“What? No, of course not,” Kurt answers. He puffs out his frustration, walking more brusquely now. “What about a hotel?”

Vasco laughs, merriment returning somewhat. “I know a few places that rent by the hour.”

“No, a real –” Kurt begins to say before cutting himself short, clueing into the joke. “Maybe tomorrow night then.” He deflates by the time he finishes the last syllable.

“Yeah, maybe,” Vasco echoes. “Good night, Kurt. Maybe you can send me a picture this time.”

“Ha,” Kurt scoffs, before realizing that the other was serious. “There’s nothing worth looking at, believe me. Night, Vasco.”

The line clicks and silence follows. Kurt stuffs his hands into his pockets for the remainder of the walk home, chill setting in.

After a hot shower and a furious, unsatisfying self-help session under the running water, Kurt wanders back out to his bedroom and stares for too long at his phone lying on the dresser. He picks it up and flicks open the camera, standing this way and that in front of the mirror, snapping and deleting over again and again. He grunts with disappointment and tosses it onto his bed before pulling on some boxers for the night.

He picks up the phone, highlights Vasco’s name in his contact list, then stops. After too long, he shuts off the screen and sets the phone on his nightstand, turning over to curl up in bed.

///

Four days pass. He sees Vasco once and Aphra not at all. His phone stays silent except for the occasional text from Siora, at least one of which reads, _What happened with the barista?_

Kurt ignores it. Tries a latte when the fresh-faced college girl is back at the counter instead of the man with yellow eyes. Immediately switches back to black.

He feels lonely. He hates it. He hadn’t felt lonely the day before he started this mission.

On the fifth day, it happens.

///

Vasco is in the café that morning and he even spares a small, professional smile for Kurt before returning to his tasks. At one point, he has to step out the front and warn the old preacher to quiet down and stop scaring away potential customers, but he doesn’t even pause as he strides back into the shop despite passing right by Kurt’s table. Kurt tries not to let it hurt.

He attempts to stay focused on De Sardet and Constantin, trading notes, plans, and glances a few spots over. Siora is due to arrive any minute and then Kurt is free to bolt. His eyes start watching the door for any sign of her, nearly more often than he watches the target.

The bell dings and Kurt’s head swings around, hoping it’s his relief, but instead he locks eyes with Monsieur De Courcillon, a mature advisor to the Merchant Congregation that Kurt had run into and run through one memorable night three years passed. M. De Courcillon likely still has the jagged scar to prove it and the memory besides, if the cornered look in his eye is any indication.

Kurt stands abruptly. De Courcillon’s eyes darts over to De Sardet, then back at Kurt. De Sardet and Constantin stand, knocking over their own table. Then, suddenly, everyone runs.

Kurt bursts out the café door in hot pursuit. Monsieur De Courcillon has dashed left, moving with surprising speed for a man his age. De Sardet and Constantin have both gone right, knocking over the street preacher before weaving past pedestrians and darting through slow-moving traffic. Kurt’s cover is blown; he goes after the target.

Fortunately, Siora is approaching from street, though not in any good positioning to cut off De Sardet’s getaway. One look at Kurt has Siora shedding her relaxed posture like a snake, dropping quickly into focus. “Which way?” she calls, eyes darting around. De Sardet has already gained a block on them, out of her line of sight.

Kurt points back over his shoulder as he barrels after the target and their cousin. “Courcillon, that way!” he yells. Siora sprints off in a flash.

Kurt flips his focus back to the chase, catching the smallest glimpse of the receding figures much farther down the street. He runs as fast as his legs permit, rushing after them, hoping it’s not in vain. A flash of blond catches his eye and he curves towards the side street, hoping to stay hot on their heels.

The rush of passersby is absent here, which makes the sound of thudding footsteps all the more apparent. It takes a moment to distinguish, but he can decipher the sound of two pairs of fast feet pounding down the road ahead of him, just out of vision, but a third pair grows louder, coming up quick on his right.

_Siora?_ He thinks, thankful for backup, when Vasco rounds the block, apron gone, eyes wild, and gun drawn.

Vasco looks at Kurt. They both stop dead in their tracks. He slips the gun behind him like he’s stolen a treat from the cookie jar. The sound of De Sardet’s and Constantin’s footsteps clatter further away, putting distance between them and Kurt, and at the same time both Kurt and Vasco turn their heads in that direction, setting off in a sprint. They look at each other again. They both skid to a stop.

Vasco’s yellow eyes narrow. Kurt snarls. And they both launch themselves forward at each other, Kurt’s shoulder dropping low to wrestle the other down, Vasco’s hand returning to the gun behind him and drawing it out.

Kurt freezes instantly, hands flying up, placating.

“Who the hell do you work for?” Vasco sneers, pressing the barrel into Kurt’s forehead.

“Who the hell do you work for?” Kurt spits back, steadfastly ignoring the pistol in his face. It smarts that Vasco reached for his weapon.

“You’re at the end of my gun,” Vasco points out, voice dark, “and I asked first, besides.”

Kurt grunts. “The Coin Guard.”

“Fucking mercenaries,” Vasco snaps, withdrawing the weapon an inch. “What’s your interest in De Sardet?”

“Same as yours, I reckon. Who’s side are you on?” Kurt asks again, still angry.

“I’m a Naut,” Vasco says carelessly. “But if you knew anything that about that, you’d have already recognized me by the marks.”

Annoyed, Kurt pushes the barrel of the gun away from himself. He doesn’t do it out of fear, so much as irritation, but it reignites the battle between them and Vasco swings with his free hand, connecting with Kurt’s jaw. Kurt lashes out in return, swiping the inside of Vasco’s calf and bringing him down some. Vasco hits back, deep into Kurt’s stomach, gun seemingly forgotten, but Kurt springs forward in a tackle, dropping both of them to the cold pavement. Kurt pins his hands to Vasco’s biceps, holding him down. Vasco could still angle the pistol his way; he doesn’t.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Kurt says, breathing heavily.

Vasco shivers beneath him. “Get off me,” he says.

“Drop your weapon,” Kurt orders, leaning down further, tightening his grasp.

Vasco’s eyes are dark, crawling over Kurt’s face for reassurance. A second passes, then Kurt hears the gun clatter to the ground. “Get off me,” Vasco repeats.

Kurt sighs, not really knowing what to do next, but the sound of someone running back towards them pulls his attention and Vasco bucks up with expertise, knocking Kurt off and rolling out of reach. Both leap to their feet, eyes moving to watch Constantin dash towards them, his face now bloodied and hair matted.

Before they can dart off in Constantin’s direction – together – separate – in competition – who knows? – a car squeals to a stop in between the two of them and De Sardet’s cousin. From the back seat, the street preacher emerges, wraps his body around Constantin, and strong-arms him into the vehicle.

“Fuck!” yells Kurt, as Vasco shouts, “Goddammit!” They both bolt towards the car, but it speeds off, leaving them standing helplessly in the empty side street.

“Goddammit,” Vasco curses again, kicking the ground. He turns back and jogs over to retrieve his pistol. Kurt startles when Vasco straightens and, for a moment, appears to debate turning it back on Kurt, but eventually he tucks it back into his waistband and out of sight.

“Fine, you can just stand there,” Vasco bites. “Stay out of my way.”

He whips his phone out, sprinting down the road in the direction from which Constantin had returned, stumbling and beaten. He has the phone to his ear, barking orders to someone on the other end, by the time Kurt’s brain starts working again and he begins to chase after Vasco. “Middle-aged man, greying, wrinkles, average but stocky build, disguises himself as a preacher – I need an ID, now! He’s got Constantin!”

Vasco spares a glance over at Kurt keeping pace beside him, a cloud passing over his face. His lips twist in frustration and he slips the phone away. “Which way did De Sardet go?” he asks with irritation, having decided that Kurt must at least be useful.

Kurt juts his chin forwards, then finally tears his gaze away from Vasco. The mission has gone ass-over-kettle and his distracting flirtation with the not-barista was at least partially to blame. _Time to get back to work,_ he thinks, as they come back out onto the main street and look around.

There’s no sign of De Sardet in the crowd. He can see Vasco searching too and coming up empty handed. They both stand for a minute, somewhat defeated.

Eventually, Kurt’s phone rings.

“I’ve got Monsieur De Courcillon, just barely. I’m dragging him back to HQ. What’s your status?” Siora’s voice is clipped and efficient.

“De Sardet is in the wind,” Kurt tells her, and he can feel her exasperation radiating over the airwaves. “And another party has taken Constantin.”

“Fuck! Bridge Alliance?” asks Siora, sounding unhappy.

“I don’t think so. It was that street preacher always ranting outside _Serenity_.”

“Who the fuck is he working for?” Siora snaps. “How many players are there in this?”

“I don’t know,” says Kurt guiltily, standing beside Vasco, who is unsubtly attempting to listen in.

“Well, get your ass to Sieglinde to make your report,” Siora sighs at last. “At least one of us got something out of this shitshow.”

“Thanks, you’re helping,” Kurt replies, gently bitter. The line goes dead without a response from Siora.

Kurt is somewhat surprised to find Vasco still standing at his shoulder.

“Guess I was right thinking I was too dangerous for you,” Vasco says, staring into the traffic. “Even before I knew you were Coin Guard.”

Kurt stiffens his shoulders and frowns. “You got in the way; I could have had De Sardet otherwise.”

“I should have been sending dirty texts to Siora instead,” he continues on, pretending not to have heard. “At least she can throw down. Damn my weakness for military men with bad grammar.”

Kurt shoots him a concerned glare. “You need to stay out of the way, Vasco. The Guard won’t think twice about bringing you in, using you for their own purposes.”

Vasco chuckles; it’s low and unfriendly. “You should take your own warning, Kurt; Nauts are ruthless and always get what they want. Goodbye, Kurt.” He stays in place.

“Goodbye, Vasco,” Kurt says, also stationary.

Vasco smiles a little and Kurt thinks that it’s sad. Maybe he’s projecting. “Ah, what could have been,” Vasco says, and then he walks away.


	3. three - desertion

_chapter three - desertion_

Sieglinde is yelling. It’s . . . not her style at all, which makes it that much worse. Kurt keeps his eyes downcast. He should tell them about Vasco, he knows that, but the words don’t even make it to the tip of his tongue. Sieglinde continues on and all Kurt can hear is _What could have been_.

They aren’t dismissed, exactly, but there is implied permission to finally leave the room, so Kurt heads towards the gym in the basement and starts wasting time there, first with the weights, then sparring with Siora when she joins him. She ducks and weaves in a style reminiscent of Vasco, in stark contrast to the straight-forward but skilled brutishness Kurt himself relies on, and so he taps out of the session early, furious with himself.

As he exits, toweling off the back of his neck, Sieglinde is walking past with The Quartermaster. Kurt doesn’t know him by any other name and he draws up short, watching the two of them walk by. Siora catches up with him and follows Kurt’s gaze.

“De Courcillon has information,” Siora says, as if Kurt doesn’t know.

“He’ll wish you had killed him by the time The Quartermaster is finished,” Kurt replies. It’s a less savoury part of their operation. Kurt is supposed to then remind himself that it’s a necessary one, but his heart sinks instead.

“Maybe you should have offered to try first.” Siora’s voice is probing, her eyes lingering on his face.

“I’m done with the Merchant Congregation. I’m done with this operation. Call me when it’s time to ship out,” he says, walking away.

“You’ll change your mind by tomorrow morning,” Siora mutters without any heat, letting him go.

///

He returns to the coffee shop. He recognizes the young college girl behind the counter. She is there the first day, the second, and the fifth.

He has got to stop coming here. The coffee isn’t worth it.

///

After Sieglinde’s eighth missed phone call, Kurt phones Siora.

“Tell the Commander I’m on break,” he says when she answers.

“Tell her yourself,” Siora grumbles back, but Kurt can hear another voice in the background – protesting, playful, female.

“Who are you with?” Kurt asks, mildly curious. He’s never known her to keep much company.

“Mind your business, Kurt,” Siora replies dismissively. “You’re not on a break. The Coin Guard are your blood. Go throw yourself on Sieglinde’s mercy and do it yesterday.”

“Are you with her?” Kurt asks, baffled.

“Gods, no,” says Siora with a laugh. The other woman laughs too, faint through the earpiece. Siora whispers something to her that Kurt can’t make out, but the tone is admonishing and light.

“Get back to HQ,” Siora warns, somewhat more serious now, but only slightly, “before The Quartermaster shows up at your door.”

Kurt harrumphs and hangs up on her.

///

Sieglinde barely blinks when Kurt finally drags himself before her, seated comfortably behind her desk. Kurt opens his mouth to explain, but she cuts him off with a wave of her hand.

“Sometimes shit hits the fan, Kurt, that’s not your fault,” she says. “But part of your job is to clean it up after. Get me something I can use and we’ll forget that you haven’t reported to work in a week.”

“Yes, Commander,” Kurt says, apology still lingering in the base of his throat. His mind feels sharper when he steps back out onto the city street, air clearing.

He just wishes he knew where to start.

///

The contents of the Merchant Congregation file – full of photographs, newspaper articles, and Coin Guard briefings – lay strewn about his living room floor. His back and knees ache as he lingers on the ground, sifting through the piles, searching desperately for something they’ve missed. There are no leads left – just a cold case.

Hours pass. Chicken wings from the corner pizza joint are consumed. Empty bottles begin to make their own considerable piles near the paperwork. His eyes strain trying to read Torsten’s notepad from two years back with only the light from the television. It grew dark . . . well, some unknown time ago, and Kurt hasn’t managed to pull himself over to the light switch.

His phone rings. He glances over at it, his heart leaping when Vasco’s name pops up. He nearly spills an open beer in his rush to answer.

“Vasco?” he says, far too eager.

There is a small pause; Kurt can almost hear the smile on the other end of the line. “Happy to hear from me, Kurt?” Vasco says, voice quiet but lilting.

“You shouldn’t be calling,” he murmurs quietly.

“You shouldn’t have answered,” Vasco retorts, full of hushed amusement.

Kurt freezes, feeling called out. “You’re the one who called,” Kurt points out, almost shyly. He shakes his head, disgusted with himself.

“So I am,” says Vasco and waits. The silence lingers. Kurt swears Vasco is listening to his breathing.

“Are you still here?” Kurt asks at last, matching Vasco’s quiet tone.

“I haven’t hung up.”

“I mean . . . still in town?” Kurt clarifies.

There is another pause. “Yeah. Haven’t been told I can leave yet.” After a moment, Vasco adds, “Not that I’m ready to.”

“I’m still here too.”

Kurt can only imagine the smile on Vasco’s lips. He flinches, feeling too close as he predicts the other’s movements. He tries to tell himself that it’s all part of his training; anticipation is the key to staying alive.

“I know,” Vasco says. He seems happy. “I have something for you.”

“What’s that?”

“A proposal,” he says. “An . . . exchange. You do for me, I do for you.”

Kurt closes his eyes and stops his mind from wandering. “You have information,” he simplifies.

“You don’t have to take all the fun out of it,” Vasco quips. “I rub your . . . back, you rub mine.”

“What do you have?” asks Kurt.

“Lots of things you’d like,” Vasco continues on in a careless drawl, his voice lilting and low. Kurt thinks he’s savouring the moment, but he doesn’t care to interrupt. “Nice ass, nice tongue, nice insight into the identification of Serenity’s street preacher. Any of those interest you?”

“Vasco,” Kurt warns, a shudder passing through him. “What do you want from me?”

“How long do you got?” Vasco shoots back. Then after some consideration: “Maybe there’s room to discuss, but I need something solid, hefty, in exchange.”

Kurt frowns. “Is this still a euphemism?” he asks.

“No, unfortunately not,” says Vasco wistfully. “Information for information, you know how this works.”

“Where do you want to do the exchange?”

Vasco grins; Kurt is alarmed how well he knows these tells in such a short amount of time. “I’ll text you. Good night, Kurt.”

“Night, Vasco,” Kurt says quietly.

Neither hang up. The earpiece fills with soft breathing and, eventually, a light chuckle.

“I’ve missed you, Kurt,” Vasco says, then ends the call.

Kurt waits by his phone, an hour, then two, and finally:

_Sea Horse. Tomorrow. Midnight._

He leans his head back, horrified and shamed, knowing he is walking right back into temptation.

///

Kurt knows he is out of place. Maybe, by some miracle, he doesn’t look it, but that doesn’t change the facts. He stands awkwardly just inside the entranceway.

There are men everywhere – a sea of them, moving in currents around the dance floor, towards the bar, from the dark corners. Everyone he sees is beautiful, appealing, and drop dead gorgeous. Kurt stands with his arms held stiffly at his sides, serious expression pulling at his lips. He doesn’t quite know where to look.

And then, Vasco steps out of the tide, rising to the surface on the wave of the crowd. He’s on the far side of the club, dressed in familiar denim and V-neck and yet it’s as if Kurt is seeing him for the first time. Lots of eyes follow Vasco asks he walks assertively to the bar counter only for him to turn, upon his arrival, and immediately lock eyes with Kurt across the floor.

Kurt gasps. Vasco grins.

He has to push through the dancing swarm, which is a nightmare in itself, bodies thrumming to a beat he can hardly hear over his laser sharp focus on Vasco. Worse, though, is the fact that before he is able to reach his destination, a thick, strong-jawed man slides alongside Vasco against the bar, hands dropping overly friendly to his waist, introducing themselves at the same time as the guy’s mouth.

A wave of fury washes over Kurt.

Vasco smiles at the stranger, twisting to say hello and artfully extracting himself from the man’s hands. Kurt watches the man laugh at something Vasco says and drift his hands over once again, fingers looping through Vasco’s belt loop. An ocean roars in his ears, but his mouth feels completely dry.

The man leans in, lips questioning against Vasco’s ear, and the embrace is loose and comfortable until Kurt catches a glimpse of Vasco’s fingers darting to the side before returning with a sharp jab forward into the stranger’s abdomen. His eyes grow wide, a couple words are exchanged, and the man steps back, scowling. Vasco’s hand slips back, tucking something away, and he tosses a glance over his shoulder, smiling when he sees Kurt is now just a few feet away.

Kurt shoulder checks the man as he walks past, considering doing more. Vasco watches, eyes bright and welcoming.

“Who was that?” Kurt sneers, surprising himself.

“I don’t know,” Vasco shrugs, flagging the server down with two fingers.

“Naut? Bridge Alliance?” Kurt presses.

“No, of course not. Can’t a man just find me attractive?” Vasco slips a bill across the counter in exchange for the drinks, then picks them both up, handing one to Kurt.

Kurt scowls and takes a sip. It’s rum with no mix, though somewhat decent, which is a surprise.

“It looks good on you,” Vasco drawls. “Jealousy.”

“I’m not . . . no,” Kurt denies, taking another drink, before saying, “You’re not mine.”

“No, I’m not,” Vasco agrees, stealing a glance around the club. He tilts his jaw towards a darker corner, away from the throng of dancers. “Shall we take this somewhere quieter?”

Kurt nods and lets Vasco lead him away from the bar. From behind, he spares a quick glance over his curves, searching for weapons and indulging in some lingering appreciation. At the minimum, there is the knife that Vasco had pulled on the other man, but Kurt is certain he would come better prepared than that. Kurt wonders if he should have packed more heavily, but he had doubted his own ability to get through security. And he had doubted that Vasco had actually meant him any harm.

There is a small empty booth somewhat away from prying eyes; it’s either convenient or staged. Vasco slides in and Kurt plops himself across from him. They drink together in silence, eyes locked, breathing heavy.

Eventually, Vasco shifts and pulls a piece of paper from his pocket, which he slides across the table to Kurt. Kurt takes a glance at it, opening it marginally without lifting it from the table. _Petrus - Inquisition_, is all that it says.

“The street preacher,” Vasco answers, in response to Kurt’s raised eyebrow. “That should help the Guard get a lock on his ID.”

Kurt nods his thanks and tucks the paper away. Now it’s Vasco’s turn to raise an eyebrow. Kurt smiles at him and doesn’t move. Vasco sighs and holds out his palm expectantly.

“Tit for tat,” Vasco says. “I suck your cock, you suck –”

Kurt pulls his own note from the pocket of his jeans, holding it up with a small wave. “My information is better,” he taunts, sipping from his cup. “Hardly an even trade.”

“Is that so?” Vasco says slowly, bemused. “Here I am, risking my neck and other body parts of which I’m fond to smuggle the sexy mercenary some much needed ammunition, and he spits in my face, says it isn’t good enough.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Kurt groans, trying to hide his own smile.

“I wasn’t kidding. You’re welcome to spit in my face anytime.” It’s not very heated though and Vasco sighs. “What can I give you?” he asks more seriously.

“You know what I want,” Kurt says, feeling emboldened by the dark anonymity of the club. He is delighted when a shocked look crosses Vasco’s face, pleased to have finally flipped the script a little with him.

“Kurt, you sly dog,” Vasco whispers, smirk spreading across his lips. “You make me feel like a wanton harlot, trading my body for your goods.” He leans in, fingers tracing across Kurt’s collarbone.

Kurt lets him explore for a moment, leaning back as Vasco nuzzles his ear and winds pathways down his chest. His fingers hover over the zipper of Kurt’s jeans, where he is already rising to attention underneath. With one hand, Kurt buries his knuckles in Vasco’s hair and pulls him in for a ferocious kiss, claiming his mouth, forcing the breath from his lungs. With the other, he snatches Vasco’s hand away, slipping him the piece of paper with the stolen information on it. Vasco’s hand curls around it, but he moans into Kurt’s kiss, not pulling away.

Kurt pulls back, finally, if only to catch his breath, but is pleased to see the heat rising in Vasco’s cheeks.

“A price worth paying,” Vasco says softly, eyes warm. He spares a glance at the paper, distracting himself, then asks, “What’s this?”

“De Sardet’s hometown,” Kurt explains.

Vasco looks up quickly, seemingly impressed. “How did you get this?”

Kurt’s heart pulls a little and he drops his gaze. “What’s important is you didn’t get it,” he says.

“Of course not,” says Vasco, pretending to be offended. “Do you think I’m new to this?”

Kurt doesn’t answer; he feels Vasco slipping out of his grasp and a pain begins to grow in his chest. “This is where you say, ‘Good night, Kurt,’ isn’t it?”

“Well, yeah,” says Vasco slowly, studying him. “Didn’t we both get what we came here for?”

Kurt tries not to sulk. “Must have done,” he says.

Vasco lingers, smile not quite reaching his eyes. “Goodbye, Kurt.” His hand shoots out, grasps Kurt’s, and squeezes. And then he’s gone.

“Goodbye, Vasco,” Kurt says after him, to the emptiness.


	4. four - reunion

_chapter four - reunion_

Two days later, Vasco sends a series of texts while Kurt is punching a large sand bag in the gym at the Coin Guard HQ.

_Thanks for the Sea Horse. Thanks for what you shared with me._

_I won’t be in town starting tomorrow._

_I’ll think of you next time some man with no taste orders a plain black coffee._

Kurt checks his phone later, letters flying across his vision. It’s not good enough, he thinks. He’s not satisfied.

///

The line rings ands rings. Vasco isn’t so quick to pick up this time. After the fifth, Kurt wonders if Vasco might actually be done with him, but then:

“Couldn’t stop yourself?” taunts Vasco, not bothering with a hello.

Kurt breathes, heavy. “Are you alone?” he asks.

“Mm-hmm,” Vasco confirms.

“Good. Take off your clothes.” His voice is low, demanding.

A familiar pause. “Mmm. Said I was alone, didn’t say I wasn’t out in public,” Vasco protests with apathy.

“Not my problem. Pants, off, now.” Kurt can hear the hint of a whimper from the other end of the line, followed by some rustling.

“I knew you wouldn’t be able to give up on me,” says Vasco. The rustling continues. “There, I’m naked. You’d better be undressed, too.”

Kurt shifts down, spreading his legs on the couch. He peels back the zipper of his jeans and frees his stirring cock. Not touching yet. “Close enough. You shouldn’t have left,” he says, “before I had my chance to fuck you.”

“Didn’t take you for the one-and-done type,” Vasco murmurs. “Be awful cruel to finally get what I want, just to leave me wanting more.”

“What do you want, Vasco?” Kurt asks, nearly a growl.

“Oh no, you called _me_, Kurt. I just want to listen,” he purrs in return. “Tell me what you’d do if I were there.”

“Fuck you,” Kurt says too quickly, too earnestly.

“Ah, you really know how to paint a picture,” Vasco teases. “Come on now, slow it down for me. Give me something to imagine as I start stroking my cock, wishing it was your hand.”

“Fuck,” Kurt breathes, then tries to compose himself. He lightly brushes his own prick, fully at attention now, as he imagines Vasco lying on his bed, spread before him, cock jutting into the air.

“You’re jerking yourself?” Kurt asks, more an instruction than a question. Vasco moans a little in confirmation. “Wish it was my mouth, wrapped around you, tongue hot, hands pinning your hips to your mattress, preventing you from pushing forward or pulling back.”

“Kurt, you’re better at this than I gave you credit for,” Vasco murmurs. Kurt can hear the distant sound of flesh on flesh through the speaker. “Love the thought of you going down on me. Love it more if you were working my ass open at the same time.”

“God, Vasco,” Kurt grunts, hips rising a little. “I can’t wait to press my fingers inside you, trapping you between my mouth and my hand till you cry my name. Make you feel so good you won’t even need me to fuck you.”

“Oh, no, I need you to fuck me,” Vasco says, stuttering a little. “I have been dreaming about your cock since before I knew you were a fucking Coin Guard. Back when I thought you were some oblivious musclehead, just imagining you throwing me against the wall and using my body like I couldn’t kill you without breaking a sweat. But it’s even better knowing that maybe you could hold your own against me – maybe, if you really tried.”

“You don’t want to win,” Kurt rushes, all in a huff, getting carried away now. “Keep talking shit, Vasco, you want me to fuck you, win over you, break you apart on my cock. That’s why you keep coming back. You’re so hung up on me that even now you couldn’t ignore my call. Fuck your hand, Vasco, that’s all you’re getting tonight, but come back here and I’ll destroy you.”

“Holy fuck, Kurt,” Vasco groans. Kurt’s got his own hand wrapped tight around his cock now, working it roughly, and the faster pace of the movements from Vasco’s end let him know that the other is much the same. “Turn me over, bruise my hips, leave me dripping. Fuck, Kurt, I need – I want –“

“Come for me, Vasco,” Kurt orders, already spilling over his own hand. “Harder, harder.”

There is a long drawn out moan from the other end of the line and eventually Vasco’s voice shudders back to life, “Oh my God, Kurt.”

Kurt swallows hard, floating a little. “Lick it clean, Vasco.”

“Jesus Chr – you’re a sick fuck, Kurt. Gorgeous,” Vasco teases. There is a quiet pause, then Kurt can hear the sound of a tongue flicking out, before it is drowned out by deep, obvious moans as Vasco puts on a show in the earpiece. Kurt listens in eagerly, body liquid against the back of the couch.

“Next time, it better be your cum I’m cleaning up,” Vasco purrs. Kurt’s chest heaves with a sharp intake of breath, spent cock jumping slightly.

“Come back here,” Kurt implores, rushed.

“You know I can’t,” Vasco answers, voice dropping.

“Then tell me where you are,” Kurt asks, starting to lose steam.

“You know _you_ can’t,” Vasco says this time. He sighs. “But, call me again. I really, really liked that.” His voice rumbles through the phone, absolutely sinful.

“It’s not good enough,” Kurt says, quiet.

“Not sure anything will ever be,” Vasco answers, then pauses. “Good night, Kurt.” His words are full of warmth and tenderness. It makes Kurt’s heart ache.

“Good night, Vasco,” Kurt answers softly. He doesn’t wait this time. With an exhale of regret, he hangs up the phone.

///

Sieglinde has a message. She sets the paper upon the table; Kurt can’t read the text from here, but he spots the crisp sheet and large block font.

“Is that a telegram?” Kurt asks.

Sieglinde shoots him an annoyed glare, then pushes the paper further forward. They can all read the words printed there now.

_I have Constantin. Meet me at Serenity Thursday at 10pm to discuss an exchange. Send one person, unarmed._

There is no signature. Sieglinde waits for everyone around the table to digest the information, then glances around the group assembled. Her eyes settle on Siora. “You’re up,” she says.

Kurt startles, disappointed and annoyed. Sieglinde avoids his questioning gaze and he remembers then that he hasn’t exactly earned his trust back yet after his week of impromptu vacation. Vasco’s information had helped, somewhat, but the Commander had been unimpressed that Kurt wasn’t willing to identify the source.

Siora nods. “By your orders, Commander.”

Kurt frowns. She’s not going alone, but Sieglinde doesn’t need to know that.

///

At 7pm, Kurt gears up. He slips three knives and two guns passably under and within his civilian clothes, tossing on a leather jacket to help disguise and protect without drawing too much attention. At 8pm, Kurt enters _Serenity_, an hour before closing.

Siora scowls at him when he opens the door, then buries her nose back into her book. Kurt can see her texting from the phone hidden behind its pages out of the corner of his eye.

He orders a black coffee from the college girl; her name is June. He’s been haunting this place enough to take notice. By the time he takes a seat at a table near the back his phone is buzzing.

_Go away._

_Kurt, seriously, go away._

_You’re going to ruin our chance._

_Kurt – ffs._

Kurt looks up, catching sight of Siora’s angry face, and gives his head a little shake, before evaluating the inside of the shop. There are two other patrons, seated together, appearing enough like a couple on a date that Kurt doesn’t take too much notice. The café is otherwise empty, winding down for the evening.

With thirty minutes to close, the female constable enters and Kurt nearly jumps to his feet, holding himself in check at the last minute. She isn’t outfitted as a police officer this time, now dressed down in leather leggings and a baggy sweater, large satchel slung over her shoulder which appears to be loaded with books and, probably, an assault rifle. Kurt narrows his eyes, but her gaze doesn’t fall on him. She freezes in place when she spots Siora.

Siora startles too, lips drawing thin. She immediately drops her gaze and yanks out her phone, furiously typing. Kurt checks his own phone, but the message must not have been for him. The Bridge Alliance agent orders a caramel latte, then drops her bag in a booth near the front and slides into a seat. She pulls out her cell, scowls at the screen, then begins typing hastily.

Siora’s phone lights up. She reads the message and scrawls something back. The Bridge Alliance agent’s phone lights up. She reads the message and scrawls something back. Siora’s phone lights up.

_Fucking dammit,_ Kurt thinks, beginning to pierce the rhythm together. He starts to draft his own message – _Who teh f is that, Siora?!_ – when the bell dings on the front door and he raises his head to look.

_Vasco._

Kurt does stand this time, but before he can do anything more, Siora grins at Vasco, oblivious to Kurt’s reaction, and waves hello. “Not working tonight?” she calls, voice sweet.

Vasco stares at her, eyes travelling beyond after a moment to lock gazes with Kurt. Kurt stiffly lowers himself back into his seat. Vasco snaps his attention back to Siora. “No, just checking in,” he answers, falsely light. “But it’s so nice to see you.”

He steps over to the counter and greets June cheerily. The Bridge agent watches Vasco intently, having momentarily ceased scowling at Siora. The other couple are finishing their coffees and laughing about something unrelated. Vasco doesn’t order anything, but says, “Hey June, why don’t you head out early? I can close up.”

June smiles back at him blithely. “That’s all right, Vasco; I’m almost done. I’ve got it.”

The easygoing mask on Vasco’s face almost cracks. “Okay, sure. I’ll just hang out ‘til you’ve wrapped up then, shall I?”

June shrugs and starts wiping down the counter. “If you like. Thanks, Vasco.”

Vasco turns away and leans back against the countertop, eyes immediately searching out Kurt. He lifts his phone from his pocket and starts typing. Kurt’s phone vibrates a moment later.

_Hello, love. Get the fuck out of here._

Kurt can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips. _No,_ he types back and hits send.

Vasco’s brow furrows in frustration. Thumbs tap angrily and then another message pops up on Kurt’s screen: _I don’t want to hurt you. Get out._

Kurt doesn’t respond at all this time.

The minutes crawl by in silence, peppered with occasional huffs of exasperation from Siora, Vasco, and the Bridge Alliance agent in their turn. With five minutes to close, June switches off the coffee machines and rounds the counter, approaching the couple by the window. “Sorry to bother you, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave, we’re closing for the night,” she says in a smooth and cheerful voice. The couple smiles at her, pack up their things, and slip out the front door. June flips the lock behind them, powers off the open sign, and switches off the lights in the café interior.

“Okay, good night, everyone,” June says with a smile and walks out the rear exit, closing the door behind her.

Siora draws her gun first. Vasco is staring with light confusion after June and the Bridge Alliance spy – _what was her name again? Aphra_ – has a large weapon that takes too much time to retrieve from her bag, so Siora wins on the face of it. Kurt’s mind is racing, debating how he can get everyone – well, almost everyone, he doesn’t care about Aphra – out of the room safely.

So yes, Siora draws first, gun pointed at the Bridge agent. The other woman’s rifle is on Kurt, whose eyes are on Vasco. Kurt frowns when Vasco finally draws and points his pistol at Siora, and so Kurt takes his revolver and aims it at Vasco.

“What the fuck, Vasco?” yells Siora, becoming aware of the pistol on her. She swings her own gun around to point at him in return. “Are you Bridge Alliance too?”

The female Bridge spy snorts in derision. “Come on, Siora, you know he’s not our type,” she sneers.

“Shut up, Aphra,” Siora shoots back. “Lower your gun, goddammit.”

“Your boy first,” she retorts back, waving her rifle slightly to indicate Kurt.

“Not a chance,” Kurt snaps, turning his revolver from Vasco to Aphra.

Vasco finally speaks. “All right, everyone, just calm the fuck down.”

“Who are you?” Siora asks again, sharply.

“Ask ‘your boy’,” he answers with a grin.

Siora looks over at Kurt, who shrinks back a little under her glare.

“You knew he wasn’t a barista?” Her eyes are questioning, a little hurt.

“Why were you texting with Aphra?” Kurt shoots back, feeling risky until Siora’s face shuts down, defensive.

“We’ve got bigger problems,” Siora says, turning away. The sight of her gun lowers as she drops her hand. “Aphra, did the Bridge Alliance get that rendezvous message too?”

Aphra purses her lips, considering, then lowers her rifle. “Yes,” she says. “And that man’s a Naut,” she adds, jutting her chin in Vasco’s direction.

“You could have told me,” Siora says a little quietly, in Kurt’s direction but not turning to face him.

Kurt tucks his own gun away. “Whoever sent that message wanted us all in one place.”

“June expected us,” Vasco observes. With a sigh, he follows the others’ lead, sheathing his pistol. “This is a set up.”

“You can leave,” grumbles Aphra, sitting back down. “I was told to come, so I will stay.”

“Did your note not say, ‘Come alone, unarmed’?” Vasco asks, turning to Kurt, eyebrow raised.

“I told him to leave,” Siora sighs, taking her seat.

“Yes, he’s very persistent,” agrees Vasco. Siora cocks an eyebrow at Kurt, who ignores her and plunks himself back down.

Vasco looks between the three of them and throws his hands up in mock defeat. “Very well, then, I guess we all wait.” He struts over to a line of stools running the length of the window and perches himself there.

Silence. Everyone glances at each other, then busies themselves with their phones. In the quiet of the shop, suddenly there is only breathing and insistent buzzing.

The first one is from Siora: _You should have told me Vasco was a Naut. Did you sleep with him?_

The second one is from Vasco: _Last warning. Take Siora and go._

Kurt reads them both then puts his phone away without answering, feeling uneasy.

Time passes, stillness heavy between them. At 9:45, a voice rings out from the back of the café, formless. “I thought I said to come alone.” Deep, masculine, frayed.

Before anyone – Kurt – can answer, the voice continues. “Heads down on the tables. Hands atop your heads. Quickly now.”

There are grimaces on all the faces around the room. Reluctantly, Kurt lowers his head, folding his hands together behind. He tries to peak out the side, and he can see a little movement, but nothing useful.

The barrel of a gun jabs into his side. “I thought I said come alone, Guard.” The voice is near his ear.

He hears Siora’s breathing quicken. “It’s not her fault,” he says quickly, talking into the tabletop. “I disobeyed orders. Don’t take it out on her.”

“Head down,” the voice says, towards the opposite direction. Someone must be peaking, but Kurt doesn’t risk checking. “I don’t have time to worry about it, so listen closely,” he continues, turning back. “I need your help. You need Constantin. I’m willing to make a trade. So . . . everyone stand up, very slowly, hands behind your heads, and we can all talk this out.”

Kurt rises, telegraphing his movements, lifting his head to see the others doing the same. Even in this, even when it should be the furthest thing from his mind, there’s a deep, heated pull in his gut at the sight of Vasco standing to attention, hands locked together behind his head, chin jutting out in defiance. Kurt shakes it off and turns to the look at the intruder.

The street preacher – _Petrus._

“I knew I recognized that voice,” Vasco hisses.

“The Inquisition is finished with Constantin; they will kill him. If you kill me, you won’t reach him in time.” Petrus stops, eyeing each of the other agents in turn, sizing them up. “Good, I’m glad you’re all behaving.”

Petrus sighs. “De Sardet – I don’t want to see Constantin hurt. Even if that means . . . my goals no longer align with the Inquisition’s. So I’m offering you a chance to smuggle him out of their hands.”

In the pause, Siora shifts. “We’re listening,” she prods.

“I can’t get him out by myself. You can’t get him out by yourself,” he adds, indicating Siora. “But all of you . . . maybe. The Inquisition would be infuriated.”

Aphra shrugs one shoulder. “Fine by me. I’m in.”

Siora chimes in as well. “That’s what we came here for.”

Vasco is looking at Kurt when he answers. “Happy for an excuse to spend more time in the city.”

Kurt nods, though Siora’s already spoken for the Guard. He doesn’t trust himself to speak, tongue thick in his mouth.

“I’m so pleased that we are all in agreement,” Petrus says with no mirth. He waves his gun a little. “Sit back down, lower your heads, and I’ll be on my way. Come back to the café tomorrow and June will have more information for you. I need to make some final arrangements.” He smiles at them, but it’s joyless. “Sit down,” he orders again, sterner this time, “and count to thirty.”

The others slowly move to comply, tucking their heads back down to the tables and waiting for the footsteps to recede. Kurt settles into place, trying to listen and maintain his patience. He remains, eager to not unsettle the old man anymore, when he feels a pistol dig into his side once again. He jumps; he hadn’t heard anyone approach.

“Shh, don’t move,” Vasco whispers quietly in his ear. “Drop those pants; I don’t care that you’re in public.”

Kurt grunts, bringing his hand up to push Vasco away, but before he can do so, he hears the squeak of sneakers on linoleum and Siora has risen, gun drawn, pointing at Vasco’s temple. “Back. Off,” she barks, readying the weapon with a click.

Vasco raises his hands and takes a step backward, eyes dancing with amusement. “Just teasing, love,” he says easily, pistol dangling from his hand without threat.

Aphra makes a noise of disgust in the back of her throat. “Men,” she drawls, rolling her eyes and hefting her satchel over her shoulder. “Feel free to put a bullet in his brain, Siora,” she encourages without any heat. “One less person to worry about in this game.”

Soira lowers her gun and looks at Kurt. “Looks like you’ve got some problems to take care of,” she says to him, nodding at Vasco.

Kurt blushes but says, “Hey, so do you.”

“I’m the least of her problems,” Aphra snaps back, waiting at the door for Siora.

Siora gathers her things and begins to turn away. She studies Vasco for a moment then looks back at Kurt.

“Have you slept with him?”

Kurt blushes again. “No,” he says through gritted teeth.

“Maybe you should,” she says. Aphra makes another noise of disapproval and opens the door. Siora slips out under her arm and they disappear together.

“I knew I liked her,” Vasco comments offhandedly, as Kurt finally stands, shaking out his limbs. The heat is dropping, sliding down from his cheeks to pool in his stomach. He shivers, eyeing Vasco in the near darkness of the café interior.

Kurt steps towards him. Faster than the blink of an eye, Vasco has raised the pistol again.

“I’m only here for business,” Vasco says, voice monotone, wary.

The betrayal nears takes his breath away. Kurt swallows hard. “You could have sent another Naut,” Kurt digs.

The pistol wavers. “I . . . we both know this is a bad idea,” Vasco says, voice breaking.

_I don’t care,_ Kurt thinks, but instead it comes out entirely unexpectedly: “I’ve tried not to care.”

“Fuck, Kurt, you fool,” Vasco says, drawing his lips in a tight line. Kurt moves to push the gun away, but Vasco straightens his arm and resettles his aim. “I’m doing this for _both_ our sakes.” But his mouth is trembling.

“Put down the gun,” says Kurt, soft but stern. A hint of a whimper slips from Vasco’s lips. Vasco’s hand drops to the side, gun with it, and a shudder moves through his body. Kurt’s heart mimics it. “Get on your knees.” His voice can hardly be heard.

Vasco sinks obediently and Kurt nearly dies. Kurt steps towards him and cups the base of his skull, threading his fingers softly through Vasco’s hair. “What are you afraid of?” Kurt asks, surprised he has it in him.

“There’s no leaving the Nauts,” Vasco says at last. “There’s no end to this where you and I are happy.”

“I’m asking you to not think about that right now,” Kurt answers, voice steel. “I’m asking you to do what you’re best it.” Vasco moans. Kurt tightens his grip on the other’s hair, pulling tight and eliciting a gasp as Vasco’s head tips back, staring up at him, his eyes starting to sink into desire. “Yeah, that’s better,” Kurt says softly, with affection.

Vasco seems to wake up, recovering a little. A smirk spreads across his lips, mouth curling upwards, and his tongue slips out, wetting them. Kurt eyes the glistening trail of spittle behind. “If you’re not going to spit on my face,” Vasco says with a challenge, finally shaking off the fear, “the least you can do is cum on it.”

Kurt groans, yanking his pants open with his free hand and running it roughly up and down his length a couple of times, but not much is needed to work him up to a full hardness, staring down at Vasco’s eager face. He moves his hand from the back of Vasco’s head to his mouth, momentarily, shoving a thumb in and pulling his lips apart. Vasco licks and nips at him, but Kurt holds him still, pressing the head of his cock against his open mouth. Vasco’s eyes burn eagerly and he swallows him in, tongue pressed flat against the underside. “God, Vasco, you’re incredible – your mouth is incredible,” Kurt praises as he pushes himself inside. “Nothing for you to think about, just sit on your knees for me and open your throat for my cock.”

Vasco trembles around him, perhaps trying to speak. Kurt looks down with worry, but Vasco’s eyes are ferociously shameless, cheeks hollowed out, with no suggestion of reluctance or apprehension. Kurt pumps his hips in and out, watching Vasco take it confidently. Kurt moves his hands back to the hair of Vasco’s head, tugging gently to give himself some leverage. “Touch yourself,” he grits out. “Now, Vasco.”

Vasco’s hands scramble downwards, working himself free. From his position, Kurt can’t see the finer mechanics of it, but the groans and rutting make the actions clear. Vasco seems to give himself over to it, humming with pleasure, drawing Kurt down into the moment alongside him. Kurt closes his eyes, basking in it, as he rocks his hips steadily in and out of the delightful heat of Vasco’s mouth, tongue twisting in time with him like a snake. Vasco’s hands are wrapping around his own cock down below, completely given into trust as Kurt controls the depth of the suck, pushing deep to the point of near choking before rushing out to give Vasco the chance to recover.

The curl of desire mounts from tremendous to unbearable within a split second and Kurt spills himself franticly down Vasco’s throat, holding him steadily in place until he has finished. To his credit, Vasco bends with ease, swallowing it down without flinching. Kurt withdraws himself roughly, mind still clouded with lust, and hauls Vasco violently to his feet before pushing him back onto a nearby table, bowing him over it, wonderfully exposed.

“Please, Kurt,” Vasco mewls unnecessarily, as Kurt eagerly takes the other’s cock in his hand and begins to quickly pump it. His other hand remains buried, twisted, in the lapels of Vasco’s shirt. Vasco’s piercing yellow eyes lock onto his face, unabashed and demanding, as he spreads his knees to give Kurt better access to his body.

Kurt exhales, eyes wild. “Finally, finally,” he mumbles, stunned. “Vasco, finally, give it to me.”

Vasco’s eyes at last slide closed, savouring, as his body shudders and his cock spurts, shooting over Kurt’s hand. Kurt works him through it, maybe a little too much, and Vasco snaps his eyes open before propelling himself forwards. His lips crash against Kurt’s own, as if he were still unsatiated.

Kurt swipes his hand against his denim-covered thigh, half-heartedly cleaning it, before burying both deeply in Vasco’s hair, kissing back with abandon. He could maybe keep going, and certainly there’s this fear that if he releases his hold on Vasco, he will never return, but eventually their kisses settle, calm growing as their limps become heavy. Kurt rests his head against Vasco’s shoulder.

“Don’t tell me this is a bad idea,” he whispers to Vasco.

Vasco sighs, hands travelling lightly and slowly in circles on Kurt’s back. “It is a bad idea. Doesn’t mean that I don’t want it,” he murmurs.

Vasco pulls away first, reluctantly, and begins piecing himself back together. Kurt follows with regret, tucking himself away too. He looks around the coffee shop with a pang of embarrassment. He had forgotten where they were.

Vasco seems to catch his thought, slight smile growing on his lips. “I don’t actually work here, you know,” he says with a shrug, indicating the disarray. “Let June deal with it tomorrow; it would serve her right for convincing me she was studying socio-economics at state when she’s actually a missionary.”

“What happens now?” Kurt asks, starting to give in to the fear of the unknown.

“No,” says Vasco quickly, raising a pointed finger. “No, don’t ruin this afterglow. Don’t you dare.”

“Okay,” replies Kurt quietly, unsure where to move.

Vasco steps up to him, agile as a cat. He plants a confident kiss on Kurt’s lips. “Good night, Kurt,” he says. There is a flash of joy in his eyes.

Kurt tries to smile back. “Good night, Vasco.”

Neither move. Vasco’s grin widens and then he kisses Kurt again. “Good night, Kurt,” he repeats.

Kurt lifts up his hands, wrapping them around the back of Vasco’s head and pulling him close, kissing him deeply. “Good night, Vasco,” he whispers against the other’s lips.

He can feel Vasco smile against his mouth. Then Vasco pulls away and disappears out the rear door of the café.

Kurt turns on his heel and exits through the front, stepping out in the dark night.


	5. five - foolishness

_chapter five - foolishness_

Kurt receives his orders. His orders are to wait. This time, at least, he listens, watching Siora disappear with the extraction team, accompanied by an unknown Naut and Aphra. Aphra, he thinks, will watch out for her. Petrus leads them away.

Kurt’s orders are to wait, so he takes a seat at _Serenity_, and stares at Vasco across the room. June is standing behind the counter, cleaning coffee makers despite the fact that it is nearly one in the morning, and the Bridge Alliance representative is tucked away in a corner booth, neither inspiring confidence nor attention, and so Kurt stares at Vasco. And waits.

Vasco, for his part, stares back, slight smirk upon his lips.

The creak of a door opening out back stirs their attention away. Kurt looks over his shoulder, expecting to see Siora and Aphra marching a bound Constantin between them, successfully liberated, but it is only De Sardet that steps into view, flanked by nearly half a dozen grizzled-looking mercenaries, armed to the teeth and leveling their weapons at the four agents in the room.

“Well fuck,” Vasco spits, moving to stand. His hand slips behind him to the pistol in his waist band.

“None of that,” De Sardet says, looking his direction. “Hands in the air, friends, and we won’t have any problems.”

“Maybe we are really bad at this,” Vasco stage whispers in Kurt’s direction, who glares back before turning his eyes to De Sardet.

June continues to clean the coffee machines, but flashes De Sardet a warm, unaffected smile when they narrow their eyes at her. The Bridge Alliance agent scowls, raising his hands into the air and stepping closer.

“Listen closely, friends,” says De Sardet casually. “Petrus will be returning soon with my dear cousin in tow. Everyone will be tied up, left unharmed, and Constantin and I will make our getaway. No fussing, no funny business, and no one needs to be hurt.”

“I can’t let that happen,” says the Bridge Alliance.

Kurt isn’t supposed to let that happen either, but he ignores the Bridge spy and looks at Vasco instead. Vasco shakes his head, minutely, then turns his gaze on De Sardet.

“I’m afraid that’s not an option for us, either,” says Vasco.

“Oh, I’m afraid this isn’t a discussion,” drawls De Sardet, unmoved. “No, please don’t do that,” they add as Vasco’s fingers begin to itch in the direction of his weapon. Kurt sinks back onto his heels, ready to move.

“In exchange for your cooperation,” De Sardet continues, looking around. Their gaze lingers on June, pouring several mugs of coffee. “Are you – are you quite finished?”

“It’s decaf,” she smiles back at him, her voice sweet as candy. “Won’t keep anyone up.” She slides some sugar and cream into place alongside beside them.

“As I was saying,” continues De Sardet, as at least one of their bodyguards helps herself to a cup of coffee, “in exchange for your willing and obedient cooperation, you can have this.” They hold up a large file, stuffed full with papers. “I’m through with the Merchants and the risk they present to myself and my cousin. Your factions are welcome to all my information, in exchange for safe passage out of the city for Constantin and I.” They toss the packet on the closest table, sheets scattering across it and onto the floor.

Vasco swallows hard, eyeing the files. Kurt keeps his eyes on the mercenary standing closest to Vasco, who points his gun directly at him. He watches Vasco shake his head. “That’s not the shipment that I’ve been paid to deliver,” he says.

De Sardet purses their lips. “And the rest of you?” they ask, turning away from Vasco. The bodyguard takes one step closer to Vasco; it’s subtle, but Kurt watches Vasco flinch. His yellow eyes dart to Kurt, searching.

Kurt sighs. “I have to call my Commander.”

“No, that absolutely does not happen,” De Sardet cautions. “Make a decision, quickly now. Time is running out.” They pause for a moment, casting a quick glance at the dark windows of the Serenity.

The Bridge Alliance representative speaks up. “Good enough for me,” he says with a shrug.

“Smart decision,” answers De Sardet. Kurt nearly rolls his eyes. The attention shifts back to him. Momentarily ignored, Vasco’s hand travels gradually towards his tucked-away pistol. Kurt watches him, glancing between Vasco and De Sardet’s mercenary standing nearby who has not yet quite made notice of the movement. Vasco is fast – Kurt knows that – but even he’s not that quick.

“I’m not authorized to make that decision,” Kurt says to De Sardet, gaze still focused on Vasco. From the corner of his eye, he sees the bodyguard narrow his eyes at Vasco. _Fuck._

Kurt launches himself at De Sardet. He crashes into the other, bringing them to the ground, as the first shot rings out. It misses. Attention now on him, Kurt feels the first gun come crashing down on the back of his head. De Sardet is not helpless either, struggling underneath him. Kurt isn’t interested in knocking them unconscious, more focused on creating a distraction than on escalating the situation, and as a result De Sardet is able to kick free as more savage blows land on Kurt. He’s vaguely thankful that they aren’t shooting as he stumbles backwards, off of the target. The mercenaries behind De Sardet train their guns on Kurt, who freezes in place, half-standing and hands up.

A pistol cocks. Kurt can tell it nestles into the back of De Sardet’s head only from the way they close their eyes in frustration and the shadow of Vasco looms behind them. “Call off your men,” Vasco snarls, voice feral.

De Sardet says nothing, though they raise their hands daintily. Kurt takes a quick glance around the room: June watches demurely from the counter; the Bridge spy stands uncomfortably in his same position, annoyance crawling across his face.

Vasco is looking at Kurt from behind De Sardet; his face is twisted in anger, but his eyes are soft when they land on Kurt, seeking. Vasco says, “We’ll take your deal. Call off your men; I’ll lower my gun. No one gets hurt.”

“Mmm,” says De Sardet, glancing at their crew. The guns begin to lower and the tension dissipates. “Happy to hear it,” they say, stepping away from Vasco. “You’ll forgive the presumption, but my men will be binding your hands and feet now. Can’t have any followers, you understand.”

Vasco immediately crosses over to Kurt’s side, where he stands seething. “You’re a fool,” he mutters under his breath at Kurt.

“They would have killed you,” Kurt grumbles back, as his hands are manhandled behind him, bound at the wrists.

“That doesn’t matter,” Vasco says, as his hands are bound the same.

“It does to me.” Kurt looks at him, scowling.

“God, you fool,” Vasco repeats, voice tender.

They both are plunked upon the ground, ropes looped around the table behind them. Vasco nestles into the curve of Kurt’s shoulder and sighs.

“Can you reach my blade?” he whispers into Kurt’s ear.

“Just wait, goddammit,” Kurt whispers back. “I was serious; I don’t want you to be killed.”

“Ugh, fine,” Vasco complains snootily, watching with disinterest as the Bridge agent is likewise tied in place.

De Sardet’s men approach June next, who waves them off airily. “I’m waiting for Petrus,” she explains brightly. The two bodyguards throw a look at De Sardet, who ponders for a moment, then shrugs. They leave her be.

“Who is she?” Kurt whispers, but before Vasco can answer, there are bodies stumbling in the front door.

Aphra is in the door first, cradling her side and hand bloodied, and she stops short when she sees De Sardet and their crew, drawing their weapons anew. She swears under her breath as Siora enters quickly behind and bumps into her, worried eyes on Aphra and noticing the assembly inside also too late.

There is a female Naut behind, if the tattoos across her face are any indication, nearly identical to Vasco’s own. She alone moves to defend herself, but Petrus suddenly presses a gun to her back and herds her in, even as he supports Constantin, looking worse for wear, with the other arm.

Siora looks for Kurt, placing her hand atop Aphra’s and keeping pressure on her wound. Kurt nods at her, trying to look reassuring though his hands are bound behind his back. It seems that Siora relaxes a little at least.

“What is this, Vasco?” the female Naut snaps.

“Oh, yes, sorry, Admiral. Outnumbered and all,” Vasco answers, trying to keep his voice light, but Kurt can hear the frustration underneath.

“My apologies, Admiral Cabral, but I do thank you for your assistance,” Petrus says, closing the door behind everyone. Constantin stumbles out of his support into the arms of De Sardet and they embrace one another.

De Sardet kisses Constantin’s head lightly. “What have they done with you?” they murmur, sad and soft. “Let’s be on our way, get you fixed up.” De Sardet pauses and looks up across the room, saying to Petrus, “Thank you, Father.” Petrus smiles.

De Sardet turns to the rest of them. “Please be patient as we make our retreat. The files are yours to squabble over once we’ve gone.” They indicate the pile of papers with a dismissive wave of the hand. “Bind the others,” they add, turning away, before helping Constantin out of the back of the café.

Petrus follows, June joining at his side. She checks him over for injuries but somewhat contented at what she can see. She glances back over her shoulder at the others. “The rest of that coffee is in a thermos. It should stay warm, so help yourselves to a cup once you’re free. Complimentary.” Then she and Petrus also disappear from the shop.

Siora leans against Aphra’s side. “Please, let me stay with her,” she says as the mercenaries approach with rope. She settles reluctantly on the ground, trying to stay in a helpful place, as they tie both of the women up.

Cabral glares while her own hands and feet are tied, the anger mostly reserved for De Sardet’s men, but occasionally throwing a very similar look at Vasco. Kurt feels him shrink against his side. “The knife, love,” Vasco whispers again into the shell of his ear.

Kurt shakes his head a little, waiting for the mercenaries to leave at least. “Be patient.”

“Not my speciality,” Vasco harrumphs.

Silence descends once De Sardet’s party departs, except for the sound of Aphra’s somewhat laboured breathing and the shushes from Siora as she comforts her. After a while, Vasco begins to stir next to Kurt. “Okay, now then,” he says curtly. He wiggles his body nearer, twisting to bare his thigh, pressing into Kurt’s hands from behind.

Across the room, Cabral is moving too, though on her own seeming to have less success of it. Kurt trails his fingers along Vasco’s inseam, but feels nothing there aside from firm muscle and warmth. “Higher, higher,” Vasco directs, and Kurt shifts his hands, barely able to reach, upwards, finally colliding into a firm bulge in Vasco’s jeans. “There, you found it,” Vasco says, quietly pleased.

“Shameless,” Kurt sighs with affection. Vasco pulls away, leg sliding through Kurt’s grasp until his fingers are able to close around the other man’s ankle. This time there is the unmistakable edge of a blade under Vasco’s pant leg, which he retrieves thankfully and sets to work cutting them both free.

He sheds the ropes and moves swiftly over to Siora, despite the look of frustration in Admiral Cabral’s eyes, and slices the binds on her wrists and ankles. Vasco retrieves another blade from somewhere on his person and approaches his superior. “Don’t be mad,” he says, hint of a tease in his voice.

Cabral huffs out in frustration. “Untie me, Vasco. Glad to see you’re still alive,” she concedes as he takes the knife to her ropes too.

After Siora, Kurt helps her work Aphra free of her binds. Her face is covered in sweat and her expression is curled into a grimace, but honestly that isn’t much different from the last time he saw her. “Now my associate,” she tells Kurt through gritted teeth after he has finished. When Kurt hesitates for a moment, Siora shoots him a look, and he begrudgingly turns and frees the other Bridge Alliance agent.

They all turn, as one, to the papers strewn about, looking from them to the others in the room.

“Let’s get you some help,” Siora says to Aphra, marking the first to turn away. Aphra doesn’t budge, eyes still on the sheets. “Don’t be stubborn,” Siora sighs in exasperation. “You need stitches.”

Aphra slips from Siora’s grasp, leaning down to snatch a handful of papers in her fist. Her face grows paler and she wobbles when she rights herself. Siora leaps back to her side, holding her upright. “There, now we go,” says Aphra, leaning into Siora heavily. “Give us a hand, Jacques,” she says to the other Bridge, who obediently steps up to her other side and helps them ease out the front door of the coffee shop.

Vasco looks at Cabral. “Let’s play fair, Admiral,” he says, holding back.

Cabral scowls and walks over to the upturned contents of the file. She gathers about half the remaining papers into her arms, then straightens up tall. “If anything important is missing,” she says to Vasco, “it seems as if you know this man.” She jerks her head a little in Kurt’s direction. Kurt swears he sees some pink on Vasco’s cheeks underneath the tattooed lines. “Let’s go,” she says, walking to the door.

Vasco glances over. “Goodbye Kurt,” he says, eyes unsure.

Kurt doesn’t say anything in reply, instead holding Vasco’s gaze with certainty. Vasco frowns a little, but Cabral clears her throat and his attention is drawn away.

“Goodbye, Kurt,” he says again as he leaves.

The door closes. Kurt dashes over to scoop up the final sheets on the café floor, stuffing them into an interior pocket of his jacket, and then slips out the back door of the _Serenity_.

///

Kurt follows Cabral and Vasco from a distance to what must be the Naut headquarters. Kurt waits for two hours, then he follows Vasco from a distance to one of the nicer hotels downtown. Kurt follows Vasco inside, then watches him disappear into room 417.

Kurt leaves and returns home. He removes all of his weapons, hides the Merchant Congregation papers in a safe in his bedroom, and cleans up the dried blood on the sides of his face and back of his head. The bruises are already turning purple and blue; he looks quite the sight.

He leaves his apartment.

Back at the hotel, he forces the lock to the caretaker’s storage and lifts a master key form the wall. He travels up a floor and stands before 417.

It is nearly dawn by the time Kurt pushes his way slowly inside, easing open the door near silently and ducking in. The room is dark and silent; Kurt pauses to listen for any movement, but there is none. He stands long enough to let his eyes adjust, finally able to make out the details in front of him. He sneaks quietly down the short hallway and steps into the area where the corridor opens out into a large room with a large bed.

Vasco is standing very still by a bedpost, pistol pointed directly at Kurt.

“Goddamn, maybe you are better at this than I gave you credit for,” Vasco remarks.

“Lower the gun, Vasco. We shouldn’t have to go through this again.”

“We shouldn’t, but here we are,” replies Vasco offhandedly. “Are you here to hurt me, Kurt?”

“No, of course not,” Kurt answers in a rush.

“Oh, but what if I say please?” Vasco begs shamelessly, pistol lowering, but not away.

Kurt steps forward, testing. Vasco waves the gun a little. “No. Clothes off, big man. Take it slow.”

Kurt can’t help grinning at that, but his eyes narrow at the pistol. “Don’t you know you’re not supposed to point that thing unless you’re prepared for it to go off?” He unbuttons his jacket.

Vasco smirks. “Let’s talk more about going off.” But he sets the gun on the foot of the bed before turning back, eyebrows raised, to look at Kurt.

Kurt’s hands pause before he can peel of his leather jacket. “Tell me to go away,” he says, softly, looking intently at Vasco.

Vasco shakes his head.

Kurt takes off his jacket and tosses it to the side. He lowers his hands to the hem of his t-shirt and says, “Tell me to leave, and I’ll never come back, I’ll never bother you again, I’ll leave you be.”

Vasco frowns now. After a pause, he shakes his head.

Kurt lifts the shirt over his head and tosses that to the side too. He bends over to remove his shoes and socks before straightening back up. His fingers slowly pry down the zipper of his jeans and he holds the flap open, looking Vasco in the eye. “Tell me to leave, or else I’ll stay here, and I’ll always choose you. I’ll always chase you. I’ll always find a way to be close to you.”

Vasco swallows hard, his hands trembling. For a moment, he looks as if he wants to run, but then he shakes his head once again, very slowly. “Take off your pants, Kurt,” he says, voice thick and shaking.

Kurt smiles, hungry, and sheds his pants, kicking them away. Vasco pauses for a moment, draws a very deep breath, and then murmurs, “Boxers too. Let me see what I’ve earned.”

“You have hands,” Kurt answers, spreading his arms out to the sides.

Vasco crosses the distance between them, Kurt noticing that his knees quake a little as he moves. Kurt wants so badly to beam with happiness, wrap his arms tightly around Vasco, and tackle him laughing into the bed, but he waits patiently for Vasco to come to him.

“You fool,” Vasco says under his breath, with tenderness, raking his eyes over Kurt’s body. He circles him, scowling when he spots the deep bruises forming on Kurt’s shoulders and back and letting his hands gently caress him as he paces. Kurt feels goosebumps rise across his flesh, cold and wanting as Vasco’s touch keeps moving on. Vasco stops in front of him again. “That was stupid,” Vasco admonishes. “You’re going to need to trust that I can take care of myself.”

“Then take care of yourself,” Kurt replies softly.

Vasco pouts playfully. “Already have done,” he says, bringing his hands at last to Kurt’s boxers and cupping him through the flimsy material. “It’s not nearly as good.”

Kurt kisses him, abruptly, now that Vasco is near. Vasco seems to let him in good humour, still stroking him, though Kurt can tell he isn’t finished with his little game. Kurt swipes a tongue deep into his mouth, tracing the lines of Vasco’s teeth, tasting bitter coffee and desire. Vasco lets him explore for a while, then pulls back to focus on removing Kurt’s underpants, giving a little whimper of appreciation when Kurt’s cock springs free.

“Didn’t really get a good look last time,” Vasco says, thumb rubbing over Kurt’s slit then sliding down the underside. “Let’s not make that mistake again.”

Kurt lets his eyes flutter closed for a moment, savouring Vasco’s hands gently playing with him, just this side of insufficient, but causing him to swell in hand nevertheless. He thinks Vasco would continue on like that, in light worship, for as long as Kurt allowed him to, so instead he opens his eyes again and clears his throat to draw Vasco’s gaze back up to his face.

“You’re still dressed. I don’t like it,” Kurt complains. 

Vasco laughs at him. “I know what you like,” he teases, taking a step back.

Just as Vasco’s hands reach up to his V-neck, Kurt speaks, recapturing his attention. “Let me see what’s mine,” Kurt whispers. Vasco’s mouth parts in an audible gasp, eyes burning bright.

When he recovers Vasco begins to strip theatrically, making a proper show of it. He pauses often to check that Kurt is watching, seemingly satisfied with dark look of desire painted across his face and the hand delicately stroking his cock as he stares. His tattoos cover nearly all of him, emphasizing his lean muscles and sharp features, and a familiar gold bar pierces his navel. Kurt is barely able to contain himself; he so badly wants to play.

Vasco is hard, thankfully, when he is finally undressed and he stands before Kurt without shame, waiting patiently. “Satisfied?” he asks.

“Ask me again in an hour,” replies Kurt. “Get on the bed.”

Vasco complies, stretching his ass and legs out as he crawls into the centre of the enormous mattress.

Kurt glances around for a moment. “Where is your, uh . . .” he trails off.

“Lube?” supplies Vasco with a chuckle. “You stalked me here and didn’t stop to pick up supplies?”

Kurt feels his cheeks redden, which only makes the amused look on Vasco’s face deepen. “In the nightstand,” Vasco says, pointing at the drawer with a smile. He leans back into place, stretching his body out and making the lines on his skin slither like snakes.

Kurt plucks the bottle out of the drawer and crawls onto the bed after him, covering Vasco’s body with his own. Vasco shivers at the slight contact and reaches for the lube. Kurt moves it out of his grasp. “Lie still,” he mouths against the curve of Vasco’s chin.

Kurt kisses him deep and persistent, focused and unyielding. Vasco moans beneath him unexpectedly, parting his lips for Kurt and grasping the back of his head to pull him impossibly closer. Kurt kisses and kisses, body heavy over Vasco, until he cannot breathe anymore, and then he pulls back and starts over again on his neck. Vasco thrums with pleasure, softly calling Kurt’s name. He’s harsher here, hoping the tattoos will mask the worst of the marks, as he roughens the skin with teeth before laving back over with tongue. Kurt keeps working, even as Vasco starts pushing him on his shoulders in an attempt to direct him downward, but Kurt ignores it, leaving sharp little nips up and down the column of Vasco’s throat, again and again.

With one arm braced against the mattress, Kurt finally moves down to heap attention on Vasco’s nipples, already pebbled and round from need. Kurt pulls and twists at one roughly, happily torturing it between the fingers of his free hand, while his tongue winds circles around the other. Above him, Vasco repeats, “Oh, oh, _oh_,” over and over like a song, alternating between begging Kurt to move on then in the next breath asking him for more and more.

Kurt’s cock is leaking now, stiff as a rod and achingly untouched. It doesn’t seem half as worthy of attention as Vasco’s writhing body and increasingly desperate moans.

After having his fill of Vasco’s pert, now red and roughened, nipples, Kurt at last moves lower, eliciting a satisfied groan from Vasco. He licks and kisses Vasco’s belly, pausing to trace the lines of skin with thoughtfulness and care. Vasco’s cock bobs desperately, knocking Kurt’s chin from time to time, as he rocks his hips up from the mattress and pleads, “Come on, Kurt, _come on_.”

Kurt bites at Vasco’s hip, marking the skin as it stretches taught across the bone. Vasco hisses through his teeth and Kurt does it again and again, replaying the noise. Finally, he buries a hand into the meat of Vasco’s ass, sitting up and flipping him onto his stomach.

Vasco growls in frustration. “Your mouth,” he huffs in disappointment.

“Don’t you want to hear me tell you how beautiful you are?” asks Kurt as he hikes Vasco’s knees higher up the mattress, lifting his ass into the air. Vasco whines a little at that, so Kurt continues, “Can’t worship you with my mouth full of your gorgeous cock, tell you how incredible you are, how much I want to bury myself inside of you.” Vasco ruts backwards, unrepentant, and Kurt slaps his ass lightly. “Easy now.”

“Use me,” Vasco grits out between his teeth, his head turned to look back at Kurt and his cheek pressed against the mattress.

Kurt kneads the muscles as he enjoys the display. “Unlike others you may have been with, I don’t break my toys,” he tells Vasco sternly, then happily brings a hand down on the other cheek, red blossoming.

“I won’t break,” Vasco says, rolling his eyes even as Kurt lands another blow on his ass. He wriggles a little, jiggling in front of Kurt.

Kurt grips his hip, slowing him. He stops and stares at Vasco, gaze intent, and gradually Vasco stills, breathing heavily.

“I won’t, though,” Vasco whines softly, as if to himself. Kurt smiles, then turns away to grab the lube.

Returning, Kurt slides Vasco’s knees a little further apart, helping to display him further. He takes the bottle and drips lube down the crack, towards the hole. He rubs the liquid slightly then presses a finger in, more easily than expected. Vasco groans, rumbling and full, eyes sliding closed. “Is that what you were waiting for?” Kurt asks, voice gravel and tongue heavy.

“It’s not your cock,” Vasco deflects, beginning to rock in place.

“Have patience,” Kurt tuts, adding another finger.

Vasco moans again, momentarily lost, then says, “Is that it then? Is this some school lesson to teach me a virtue?” As if to rebel, he moves more quickly, impaling himself on Kurt’s fingers.

Kurt rubs his thumb against Vasco’s stretched hole, smearing the lube around. “Silence is a virtue, too.”

“Ah, shut up, you like it,” Vasco says with a smile, before falling quiet, his breath quickening as Kurt adds a third finger and opens him wider.

Vasco’s hips are more still now, allowing Kurt to work his fingers in and out. Kurt watches the shivers that run along Vasco’s spine each time he pushes in more deeply. Vasco hums softly with pleasure, waiting it out, at least for a little while, before his eyes finally snap open, stormy, and he begs, “Enough, Kurt, your cock; please, I’ve been oh so good.”

“You’ve been excellent,” Kurt breathes, “but I don’t think you’re ready for that yet.” And he curls his fingers, stroking the bundle of nerves inside Vasco mercilessly.

Vasco _shouts_, crying out. “Fucking dammit, Kurt!” he howls. His body spasms, hips rutting back desperately. His knees spread farther, sinking his body lower to the mattress, and he rubs his cock against the covers. “_Kurt_,” he whines.

Kurt can hardly see straight through the haze in his head, mouth dry and cock _throbbing_. “Enough playing,” he says to himself, unable to keep the thought contained, but Vasco overhears and whispers, “Yes, yes.”

Vasco whimpers sadly when Kurt withdraws his hand but is quick to rock his hips backwards at the first brush of Kurt’s dick against his hole when Kurt finally gets himself into the proper position. Kurt holds him at bay, momentarily, with trembling hands. “Easy, Vasco, easy; I’ve got you.” He nudges Vasco, using his thumb to open him up enough to line up, and then barely contained, taking all his muster, Kurt presses in slowly, stretching as he goes, unwilling to cause Vasco any pain.

Vasco sighs into the mattress as Kurt finally begins to move, weak refrains directed into the sheets as he mumbles Kurt’s name over and over. Kurt feels overpowered by the sound of Vasco moaning beneath him and the hot pull of Vasco’s ass as it clenches around his cock. Kurt drops his head to the middle of Vasco’s back, trying to catch his breath. Vasco braces his elbows, supporting them both.

“Oh please, oh please,” Vasco’s voice begins to rise in fervour as Kurt mouths the juts of his spine. “Kurt, I need . . . I want you to touch me. Kurt, _please_.”

Kurt blinks, drawn out of his reverie, and shifts back up into a better position, still buried deeply within Vasco and barely, barely hanging on. He is slow to respond, though, and Vasco must think he needs more encouragement, because he babbles on, “Kurt, please let me come. Please touch me. Make me yours.” Kurt curls his hand around Vasco’s cock, wrapping fingers together tightly, prompting Vasco to curse and buck forward sharply. “Fuck yes,” Vasco cries. “Yours.”

Vasco comes, hips rutting feverishly into Kurt’s strong hand, working the shaft. When he seems to have spent himself and starts melting boneless into the bed, Kurt grabs tightly to both hips and pistons himself in and out rapidly, rough and overwhelmed, spilling inside of Vasco.

He collapses next to the other, who shuffles just enough to curl his head onto Kurt’s chest. “I’d say that was worth the wait,” Vasco begins to say, throat raw and faltering, “but if we had done that on the first day, think of how many times you could have fucked me senseless by now.”

Kurt presses a kiss to the top of his head, taking in a deep breath, his nostrils tickled by strands of Vasco’s hair. “Run away with me,” Kurt says, punch drunk.

Vasco would laugh if he had any energy left, but instead his chest heaves a little. “You mean go rogue?” he says with a snicker.

“I was thinking retire,” Kurt daydreams. “Find a beach somewhere, sip cocktails in the sun.”

“If you still want me in thirty years, when my ass is fat and wrinkled, then you can talk to me about retiring.” Vasco sighs. Kurt can tell that he is drifting off; exhaustion settles over him too. “I told you not to leave,” Vasco says quietly, pointedly, holding tighter all of a sudden.

“You did,” Kurt agrees, squeezing him a little, before his eyes close and he falls fast asleep.


	6. epilogue

_epilogue_

“I’ll take the assignment,” Kurt interjects.

Sieglinde stares him down. “You hate the heat,” she deadpans.

Kurt shrugs one shoulder. “We’re one man down,” he reminds her, not referencing Siora by name. The Coin Guard has not received contact from her since the night she left _Serenity_; Kurt has had three letters and one phone call, but he’s kept her silence.

“Fine,” Sieglinde sighs, handing him the file.

///

It’s Kurt’s first time in Amman, but he finds the tea shop easily enough. He stands out as he enters – there’s no way around it – but the map hanging limply from one back pocket should hint enough at tourist to deter too many inquiries.

He examines the interior of the restaurant, but there is no sign of his target. He has time to set himself up in place and, maybe, even relax a little in the morning heat.

He steps out to the patio, spotting a wicker bistro set, and he pulls himself a chair. He looks up, meeting the yellow eyes of the man occupying the other seat.

“Hello, love,” Vasco says with a smile, sliding a second cup of chai across the table to Kurt.


End file.
